The arena erupts in a deafening roar as Obinai stands frozen, his fingers digging into the railing hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
How...
"Did she just..." Obinai's voice comes out hoarse.
Next to him, Bram lets out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his head. "Damn straight she did," he chuckles. "When someone's ki is that much stronger? Magic might as well be tissue paper."
A cold trickle of sweat runs down Obinai's spine as he watches Lyra standing victorious in the arena.
"Neat..."
Lyra stands at the center of it all the noise, shoulders squared, chin lifted - but Obinai catches the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her chest rises and falls just a fraction too fast.
For one unguarded moment, her stern expression cracks. A small, genuine smile tugs at her lips as she gives the barest wave to the stands. The movement is almost shy...
Then, like a curtain falling, her mask slips back into place. But not before Obinai sees it - the hunger in her eyes as she drinks in their worship, the subtle lean into the crowd's energy like a flower turning toward the sun.
Bram elbows him hard in the ribs. "Quit staring like a lovestruck puppy. You're next, dumbass."
Obinai's stomach drops at that. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again - but before he can form a coherent thought, Lyth's amplified voice cuts through the din like a knife.
"AND NOW," the headmaster booms, the very stones trembling with his announcement, "PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR OUR NEXT CONTESTANTS!"
His vision tunnels...
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously familiar is laughing at him.
Perfect. Just perfect...
"Now...," Lyth says.
"...we present a match most extraordinary!" The headmaster's silhouette expands against the coliseum walls as he spreads his arms wide. "Not merely combatants, but brothers-in-arms! Roommates turned rivals!"
The crowd's roar crests like a tidal wave. Obinai's pulse thunders in his ears, each heartbeat sending fresh adrenaline coursing through his veins. He barely registers Bram's hand clamping onto his shoulder.
"This is it, partner," Bram murmurs. The half-imp's fingers dig in just shy of painful. "The real fucking deal."
Obinai's mouth moves before his brain catches up. "Yeah. It is."
Then the world dissolves.
The transition is instantaneous - one moment standing on a mix of solid stone and metal, the next onto warm hardened arena sand. Obinai's boots kick up fine golden particles that glitter in the now-setting sun. Across the expanse, Bram materializes...
The coliseum's roar becomes distant, muted - as if they stand at the bottom of some great ocean.
...
Killian jerks upright in his seat, a thin strand of saliva glistening on his chin. His silver eyes—usually so composed—burn with an almost feral intensity as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His pointed ears twitch, the delicate silver rings adorning them catching the light as he leans forward.
"Yes..." His voice is a breathless rasp, barely audible over the roaring crowd. Then it sharpens...
"Yes! Show me, you wretched mongrels. Show me the fire that burns in the gutters!"
The nobles farter down in the stands from him shift uncomfortably at this. One particularly stuffy viscount clears his throat.
"Lord Ashmount, really—such language—"
Killian doesn't even glance his way. "Oh, do become acquainted with silence, Reginald," he snaps. "Unless you'd prefer to bore me to death with your tedious propriety instead?"
The viscount recoils as if struck. Killian pays him no further mind, his gaze locked on the arena below.
"Show me, human and imp," he murmurs, his voice trembling. "Show me the vigor of the forsaken. The defiance of those who claw their way up from nothing!"
A dark chuckle escapes him.
"Show me the moment this boring, stagnant order crumbles beneath your fists."
His breath comes faster now, his chest rising and falling like a man starved for air. The scent of ozone and blood rises from the arena, mingling with the heavy perfume of the nobility around him. He can taste it—the shift in the air, the crackle of something new into where he has always desired to be.
A Grand Stage
"Go on," he whispers. "Change everything."
...
The arena's roar fades to a dull hum as Obinai's world narrows to the guy standing across from him. Every muscle in his body tenses, his breath coming slow and controlled through slightly parted lips.
He's favoring his left side, Obinai notes, watching the barely perceptible hitch in Bram's breathing. Still recovering from that last fight. But that right fist... His eyes flick to Bram's knuckles - scarred, calloused weapons that have put down stronger opponents than him.
Bram rolls his shoulders, the movement deliberately casual, but Obinai catches the way his friend's feet never stop moving - always balanced, always ready. The imp's usual lazy grin is gone. His eyes track Obinai's every micro-movement with frightening intensity.
He's reading me too, Obinai realizes. Noticing how I shift my weight to my back foot before striking. Watching my breathing patterns.
Above them, Lyth's voice booms across the coliseum. "HERE WE HAVE BRAM!"
The crowd erupts. Bram raises a fist in acknowledgment, but his eyes never leave Obinai's. The muscles in his forearm flex - a tell Obinai knows means he's considering a first strike.
"AND OBINAI!"
The cheers are noticeably quieter. Obinai huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. Better than being booed at least, he thinks. His fingers twitch at his sides - itching to summon magic, but he holds back. Not yet.
Lyth spreads his arms wide. "HERE'S TO A TRULY WONDROUS MATCH! LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!"
The arena holds its breath.
Neither moves.
They begin circling instead, their footsteps whispering through the fine arena sand. Obinai keeps his center low, his knees slightly bent.
He's waiting for me to make the first move, Obinai realizes. Trying to counter.
The sand crunches softly underfoot as they orbit each other. A bead of sweat trickles down Obinai's temple...I have to—
Bram breaks the silence first. "So," he starts, "how's it feel? Fightin' in fronta the whole damn kingdom an' all—"
But Obinai isn't listening.
His lips move, fingers twitching at his sides as layers of magic weave over his body like a second skin.
[Lesser Buff].
The spell weaves into his muscles like liquid fire. His breath comes quicker—sharper.
[Haste].
The world slows by just a few paces. The roar of the crowd deepens slightly, stretching into a distorted hum. Bram's grin seems to slow mid-spread, his next words dragging slightly.
Gotta be smarter. Can't just rush in like some damn brawler.
He presses a palm to his chest.
[Shield].
An familiar invisible barrier hums to life across his skin, the air around him thickening just enough to blunt the first strike.
[Continuous Healing].
A warm pulse settles beneath his ribs, knitting minor aches before they even form—bruises fading, cuts sealing. Not enough for battle damage, but enough to keep him fresh.
Finally, he taps his temple.
[Lesser Grace].
His vision sharpens. The world blooms into hyper-clarity—every grain of sand distinct, every shift of Bram's weight echoing like thunder in his ears. He can smell the oil on Bram's knuckles...
Bram barks a laugh that cuts through Obinai's thoughts. "The hell you mutterin' over there? Gettin' cold feet?"
Obinai blinks, the last of his spells settling into place. His body thrums with restrained power, every nerve alight. "Nah..." He says but then he remembers. "Wait...what the hell are you talking about?"
Bram's chest heaves as he takes a step back, suddenly breaking their rhythm. His fingers flex, then relax as he turns his face toward the roaring crowd. A slow grin spreads across his features.
"Look at 'em," he says. His arm sweeps in a wide arc, taking in the sea of screaming faces, the nobles leaning forward in their gilded boxes, the commoners hanging on railings. "Whole damn kingdom cheerin' for us. Two of the lowest who ain't supposed to be here."
A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as he tilts his head up toward the floating observation deck where the godkin sit. Obinai follows his gaze—and sure enough, even those figures have shifted in their seats. One leans forward, white hair spilling like liquid as crimson eyes burn with sudden interest.
"Heh. Even the shiny fucks up top are watchin' now," Bram mutters.
"Damn," he breathes, a grin tugging at his lips. "You're right."
The crowd's roar swells around them, a living thing feeding off their energy. Bram meets Obinai's gaze, and for a heartbeat, it all fades way. They can only hear the nervous breathes of the other...
Then Bram's grin widens just a bit too much. "So let's give 'em a show they won't forget."
Obinai exhales...
I can do this.
"Try not to cry when I win," he shoots back.
...
...
Bram's smirk sharpens into something feral as he drops into his stance—knees bent, weight balanced perfectly between both feet. His boots dig into the dirt, kicking up tiny puffs of dust. One calloused hand extends forward, fingers loose but ready to snap shut like a bear trap. The other rests near his hip, coiled tight. A faint golden glow pulses around him, the air shimmering like heat off desert stone.
"Ready when you are," he rumbles, the grin stretching wider.
Obinai exhales—long and slow—feeling the essence thrumming through his veins. His pulse steadies. His fingers flex. Then—
—they vanish.
BOOM.
The world blurs as they launch at each other, the sheer force of their movement kicking up a dust storm. The crowd gasps as the shockwave rattles the stands, drinks sloshing over rims, hats flying off heads.
Obinai moves first—enhanced speed turning him into a streak of motion. His hand whips forward, mana coalescing into three crackling orbs of blue-white energy.
"[Magic Missile]!"
The spells scream through the air. Bram twists, his body bending at impossible angles—
WHOOSH. WHOOSH.
Two missiles sail past, exploding against the arena wall in showers of sparks. The third—
THWACK!
—grazes his shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of blood. Bram barely flinches. "Tch. That it?"
Then he's moving.
One moment he's ten feet away—the next, his fist is already mid-swing, knuckles glowing molten gold with condensed ki.
"EAT THIS!"
CRACK!
The punch lands square on Obinai's shimmering barrier. The shield splinters, weblike fractures spreading outward as raw force transfers through—
"Guh—!"
Obinai skids backward, boots carving trenches in the dirt. His ribs scream where the impact leaked through, but the healing spell stitches the damage almost instantly—skin knitting, bruises fading to nothing.
Bram doesn't let up. He pivots, swinging his other fist in a brutal haymaker aimed straight for Obinai's jaw—
Obinai ducks, feeling the whoosh of air as Bram's fist sails over his head. He counters with a knee to the gut—
THUD.
Bram grunts but grabs Obinai's leg before he can pull back. "Nice try."
With a heave, he yanks Obinai off his feet and—
WHAM!
—slams him into the ground hard enough to crater the earth. Dust plumes upward. The crowd roars.
Obinai wheezes, vision swimming. Okay. That one hurt.
But he's already rolling as Bram's foot stomps down where his head had been. Stone shatters.
"Stay still, damn it!" Bram laughs, wild and breathless.
Obinai flips onto his back, palms slamming together—
"[Mist]!"
A thick fog erupts around them, swallowing the arena whole.
Bram's grin never wavers. "Oh, now we're talkin'."
Somewhere in the mist, Obinai breathes.
Round two.
Obinai's grin flashes white in the mist, blood smeared across his teeth. "Not bad yourself!" he calls out, voice bouncing off the swirling fog.
Bram's laughter rumbles back—closer than expected. "Pfft—like you got the upper hand here!"
Obinai's senses burn. The world moves in slow motion—every droplet of moisture in the mist, every shift in the air as Bram moves. He feels the disturbance before he sees it—a ripple in the fog to his left.
There.
He snaps his hand up, fingers curling. "[Flame Lash]!"
Fire roars to life in his grip, a searing whip unfurling with a crack that splits the mist apart. The flames illuminate Bram's face mid-dodge—eyes wide, teeth bared in a wild grin as he ducks under the lash. Heat singes the tips of his hair.
"Too slow, magic-boy!" Bram taunts, already pivoting—
—and then he's gone.
Obinai's enhanced senses scream a warning a half-second too late.
WHOOSH.
A fist smashes upward from behind, catching him square under the jaw.
CRUNCH.
Obinai's head snaps back, vision exploding into stars as his feet leave the ground. His shield splinters further, chunks of magical energy breaking away like shattered glass. He barely has time to gasp before gravity yanks him back down—
—but he twists, slamming his palm into the dirt as he falls.
"[Earth Spire]!"
The ground heaves. A jagged pillar of rock erupts beneath Bram, who's already mid-lunge.
"Huh—?!"
Bram twists like a cat in midair, but the spire clips his ribs, sending him spinning off-course. He hits the ground in a roll, coming up with a wince, one hand pressed to his side.
"Hell yeah!" he barks, shaking out his arm. A bruise is already forming under his torn shirt, but his grin hasn't dimmed. "But that ain't enough!"
He launches forward again, fist pulled back, ki flaring gold around his knuckles.
Obinai scrambles up, magic burning through his veins. Think. Faster.
Bram's fist connects with Obinai's ribs, breaking through the remnants of the shield and sending Obinai skidding back. The pain surges through Obinai's body, but his healing spell kicks in immediately, mending the damage as quickly as it happens.
Obinai's chest heaves, sweat dripping down his temple as he raises a trembling hand. His fingers crackle with energy, the air around them warping from the heat.
"[Lightning Surge]!"
A jagged bolt of blue-white electricity rips through the air with a deafening CRACK, scorching the ground where Bram had been standing just a heartbeat before. The smell of ozone burns sharp in Obinai's nose.
Bram's eyes go wide. "Shi—!"
He leaps, muscles coiling as he kicks off the ground—only for his ki to stutter mid-air. The golden glow around his feet flickers, dies.
THWACK!
The lightning catches him square in the chest, sending him flying backward. He hits the dirt hard, rolling twice before skidding to a stop on his stomach.
"Ugh... damn it..." Bram groans, spitting out a mouthful of dust. His fingers dig into the earth as he pushes himself up, his mind racing. Right... gave up regular ki control and a lot of other complicated shit for this Duskborn technique. Great.
He glares at Obinai across the field, wiping blood from his split lip. "Alright, smartass. New plan."
Cracking his neck, Bram plants one foot forward, his body lowering into a heavy stance. His fists clench, knuckles popping.
"I just gotta hit you really frickin' hard."
...
...
Obinai's arms snap up just in time, fingers weaving through gestures as blue energy flares around his forearms. The shield forms - a shimmering hexagon of force - mere milliseconds before Bram's boot connects.
CRACK-BOOM!
The kinetic blast ripples outward as Bram's kick shatters the magical barrier like glass. The remaining force hammers into Obinai's crossed arms, sending shockwaves of pain up both limbs. His feet leave the ground as he's launched backward - a human projectile carving a trench through the arena dirt before smashing into the far wall. Dust and debris explode outward.
Vision is fucked. Ribs screaming. Left arm definitely broken...
Through the pain haze, Obinai feels the warm pulse of his healing spell working - tendons restitching, bones grinding back into place with agonizing slowness.
Gods...why haven't I used this before?...But damn it's like watching grass grow...
Across the arena, Bram approaches at a walk. Sweat drips from his chin, mixing with the dirt caked on his skin. "Yer tough, Obi," he pants. "But how many more hits you got in ya?"
Obinai spits blood. "Enough...to do...this." His fingers twitch in a familiar pattern.
"[Grease]!"
The ground beneath Bram's feet transforms instantly - pristine dirt becoming a shimmering oil slick. Bram's eyes go wide as his back foot slides out from under him.
"Aw shi-"
WHUMP!
He hits the ground hard, skidding several feet before catching himself on all fours. The crowd roars with laughter at the sudden reversal.
Obinai doesn't wait. His free hand whips forward, fingers curling as blue-white energy coalesces into a jagged spear of frost.
"[Frost Spear]!"
The ice shard screams through the air, leaving a trail of frost in its wake as it rockets toward Bram's exposed ribs. At the last possible instant, Bram's body twists—muscles coiling with animal reflex—as the frozen projectile grazes past, close enough to leave a thin line of frost across his tunic.
"Hah! That was close!" Bram barks out a laugh, shaking off the lingering chill like a dog shedding water.
"Gotta try harder'n that!"
Obinai's teeth grind together. Now that just ain't fucking fair...
He barely has time to raise his arms before Bram is moving again—this time faster, hungrier. The imp ducks low, his center of gravity dropping like a stone as his leg whips out in a vicious spinning kick.
THUMP.
The impact drives the air from Obinai's lungs in a strangled whuff. His ribs scream in protest as he skids across the arena floor again, dirt and pebbles spraying up around him. For a second, the world whites out—nothing but pain and the distant roar of the crowd.
What now...I've gotta think of something...
Then the healing spell kicks in, stitching bruised flesh and cracked bone back together with a warm, tingling sensation. Obinai gasps like a drowning man breaking the surface, his body shuddering as he forces himself onto his elbows.
"Y-You're... relentless," he croaks.
Bram swipes a forearm across his sweaty brow, grinning like a madman. "And you're still standin'."
"Or... y'know. Layin' down, but close enough."
...
...
Obinai's pulse hammers against his ribs as Bram's smile stretches wider—too wide. The corners of his mouth split slightly, a thin trickle of blood painting his teeth crimson.
Oh shit.
A nervous chuckle escapes Obinai's lips. "Why do I hear boss music...?"
Then Bram moves.
His body flows like water, every muscle coiled. One second he's five paces away—the next, his right fist is already mid-swing, knuckles wreathed in crackling golden ki.
CRACK!
The hook slams into Obinai's crossed forearms. The impact reverberates up his bones, rattling his teeth. His boots skid backward, kicking up plumes of dust as his shield flickers—absorbing some force, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
Bruising. Gonna bruise bad.
Before he can reset—
WHOOSH!
Bram's left leg lashes out in a roundhouse kick, the air itself screaming as his heel rockets toward Obinai's ribs.
Obinai twists—
THUD!
—too slow. The kick grazes his side, sending white-hot pain spiderwebbing through his torso. He staggers, vision swimming.
Okay. New plan.
As Bram lunges again, Obinai's fingers slash through the air as he closes them.
"[Gale Fist]!"
A torrent of wind explodes from his palm, slamming into Bram's chest. The brute grunts as the force lifts him clean off his feet—
"[Binding Chains]!"
The faint glow of shackles whip from the ground, coiling around Bram's limbs mid-air. For half a second, he's suspended—
Then his muscles bulge. The chains strain.
SNAP.
Bram lands in a crouch, grinning through broken links as they fade. "Cute."
Obinai doesn't wait. His hands clap together—
"[Ember Swarm]!"
A dozen fist-sized fireballs erupt around Bram, spiraling inward.
Bram rolls through the barrage, two fireballs grazing his shoulders, leaving smoldering streaks on his shirt. He comes up swinging—
"[Stone Skin]!"
Obinai's arms harden to granite an instant before Bram's uppercut crushes into his guard.
BOOM!
The shockwave shatters Obinai's stone armor, sending razor-sharp fragments flying. He flips backward, landing hard.
Bram comes at him like a rockslide—unstoppable, brutal. His fists are a storm of motion, each jab cracking against Obinai's guard like hammer strikes. Thud. Thud. THUD. The impacts shudder up Obinai's arms, rattling his bones. His healing spell burns through his veins, stitching torn muscle and knitting microfractures in real-time, but the pain lingers—sharp, electric, alive.
"C'mon, magic boy!" Bram snarls between punches, spit flying. "Block better!"
A left uppercut screams toward Obinai's chin. He jerks back—just enough—and feels the wind of Bram's fist shear past his nose. Close enough to taste the iron-and-sweat stink of his knuckles.
No time to breathe.
Bram's already spinning, his boot lashing out in a whip-fast back kick.
CRACK!
The kick smashes into Obinai's shoulder, the force lifting him clean off his feet. He tumbles across the dirt, skidding, rolling, barely managing to dig his heels in before he eats arena wall. Grit coats his tongue.
Copper floods his mouth.
He spits red, grinning through the sting.
"[Wind Blast]!"
The spell tears from his palm like a living thing—a howling, compressed bit of wind that rips up chunks of earth in its wake. The crowd ducks instinctively as debris pelts the barrier wards.
Bram leaps...
The wind grazes his ribs as he avoids the spell, shredding his shirt, but he lands in a crouch—already pushing off again. His right fist glows, ki condensing this time into a molten halo around his knuckles.
"TRY THIS ON!"
He launches, fist coming down like a meteor.
Obinai barely gets his arms up.
BOOM.
The impact shatters his guard, driving him knee-deep into the arena floor. Dust plumes. Stone cracks. His vision whites out for a heartbeat—
—then clears just in time to see Bram rearing back for another blow.
Oh hell no.
Obinai's hand slaps the dirt.
"[Earth Spire]!"
The ground beneath Bram erupts. Jagged stone spears toward his gut—
"Ya don't really fucking think that'll work again right?!" Bram punches downward, obliterating the spell mid-formation. Rubble rains around them.
Obinai doesn't answer. He's already moving, fingers weaving his next spell.
Bram's eyes gleam. "That's it. Fight me."
The crowd's roar fades to static in Obinai's ears again.
All that exists now is the dance.
The blood.
The next move.
...
...
Obinai's hands move before he thinks, fingers twisting through the familiar motions. "[Flame Whip]!"
A searing lash of crimson fire snaps through the air, leaving afterimages burned into retinas.
Wish I knew more spells, he thinks, watching the flames arc toward Bram's chest.
But Bram—
"Hah!"
—is already moving.
The imp ducks low, his roll so smooth it's like the ground tilting to meet him. The whip's tip grazes his back, scorching fabric, but he's already surging upward, fist cocked back—
CRUNCH.
Obinai feels the rib go this time. A sickening, wet snap that vibrates through his entire skeleton. The pain is a white-hot brand pressed against his insides.
"Ghk—!"
He stumbles, vision swimming. The healing magic stitches bone and muscle back together, but the phantom ache lingers. His lungs burn with every gasp.
Bram doesn't let up. He's grinning like a madman, sweat glistening on his brow. "C'mon, Obi!" he taunts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yer slowin' down! Don't tell me yer givin' up already?"
Obinai's hands twitch. Tries to summon another volley—
[Magic Missile].
The spells sputter to life, their glow dimmer, their formation sluggish. Three orbs wobble into existence, lazily drifting toward Bram instead of streaking.
Shit.
Bram flows around the spells. The missiles scream past him—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—detonating harmlessly against the arena walls in showers of sparks. Obinai's breath hitches.
Shit. My spells are—
CRACK.
Bram's fist punches straight through Obinai's wavering guard, burying itself in his gut. All the air leaves Obinai's lungs in a wet whoosh. He doubles over, vision swimming, saliva dripping from his lips.
"Hah—! Guh—!"
He staggers back, fingers clawing at his stomach like he can physically hold the pain inside. His magic flickers—the enhancement spells sputtering like dying candle flames. His hands tremble when he flexes them. The ache is deep, wrong—like his bones are hollowing out.
Bram doesn't pause. Doesn't breathe.
Left hook. Obinai's head snaps sideways, teeth clacking together.
Knee to ribs. A sickening crunch, and suddenly he can't draw air.
Uppercut. His feet leave the ground.
The world tilts. The crowd's roar becomes distant, muffled, like he's underwater. His shield—once a shimmering barrier—now flickers pathetically, barely a haze around him.
Fading. I'm fading.
He tries to summon [Wind Blast], but what comes out is a sad, sputtering gust—barely enough to flutter Bram's hair.
Bram grins. Blood wells between his teeth, dripping down his chin in thick rivulets. The split corners of his mouth stretches grotesquely as he speaks.
"Heh. Startin' to show," he taunts, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The smear of red paints his knuckles. "You wanna lose to me that bad?"
Obinai snarls, his fingers trembling as he whips his arm forward. "[Ignis]!"
The flame that bursts from his palm is pathetic—a sputtering, half-formed thing that barely licks at the air before Bram casually backhands it into nothing. The embers scatter like dying fireflies.
Damn.
Obinai's vision swims. His legs wobble. The magic in his veins—usually a roaring river—feels like a clogged gutter, sluggish and weak. He glares at Bram through sweat-stung eyes. "I'm not... done yet," he growls, but the words taste like a lie.
Bram pops his knuckles as he flexes his hands. The golden glow around him burns brighter, fiercer—like a forge stoked to its limit. "Yeah? Then quit staggerin' like a drunk and hit me."
He charges.
Obinai barely has time to raise his arms before Bram's fist crushes into his guard. The impact splits the air—
CRACK!
—and Obinai's world whites out as Bram's knuckles plow straight through his defense and into his jaw.
The hit lifts him off his feet. For one weightless, nightmarish second, he's airborne, blood arcing from his mouth in a glittering spray. Then—
WHAM!
He slams into the arena wall so hard the stone splinters behind him. Dust and rubble explode outward, swallowing him in a choking cloud.
The crowd gasps.
Silence.
Bram stands panting in the center of the ring, sweat dripping down his temples. He cocks his head, squinting at the debris. "Yo, O? Ya alive?"
No answer.
Bram scratches his head. "Shit. Did I—"
Then—
A cough.
The dust shifts.
Obinai lurches forward, one hand braced against the cracked wall, the other clutching his ribs. Blood drips from his nose, his lip, a dozen cuts across his arms and chest. His healing magic flickers weakly—too slow, too thin—but it's working.
He spits red onto the sand.
Bram's grin returns, wild and bright. "Hell yeah."
Obinai pushes off the wall. His legs shake. His breath comes in ragged, wet gasps. But his eyes—
—burn.
"Round... fucking...three," he croaks.
...
...
Obinai's arms tremble as he stretches them wide, fingers splayed like a man trying to hold back a flood. The familiar tingle of magic sparks at his fingertips—but something's wrong. The energy feels sluggish, thick, like trying to wade through tar.
Not enough. Not nearly enough. But...
He grits his teeth. Sweat beads along his hairline as he digs deeper, pulling at the well of essence around him and inside him—scraping the bottom, dragging up every last dreg.
Concentrate. Use what you have. Pull what you can.
His eyelids flutter shut for one heartbeat. Two.
Then—
"[Magic Missile]."
The words tear from his throat...
The orbs that form aren't the usual compact spheres—they swell, distorting the air around them like heat mirages. Blue-white energy crackles and spits, growing to the size of boulders, their cores burning so bright it hurts to look at. The ground beneath Obinai's feet begins to crater, the sheer weight of the magic pressing down.
The crowd's murmurs die mid-breath. A child in the front row drops their candy.
Bram's grin splits his face ear to ear.
"HELL YEAH!" he roars, slamming a fist into his open palm. The impact sends a shockwave of golden ki rippling up his arms, his veins lighting up like molten lava under his skin. His boots dig into the earth, tearing deep grooves as he braces. "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT! COME ON, OBI—HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"
Obinai's arms shake violently, muscles screaming under the strain. The magic pulses erratically, threatening to spiral out of control—
—The ground screams as Bram launches forward, his boots tearing craters in the earth with each step. Dust plumes behind him like the wake of a charging bull. The air itself shudders as he builds momentum—a golden-hued comet streaking toward obliteration.
Obinai's chest heaves. Sweat stings his eyes. But his lips curl into something sharp and satisfied.
"Took the damn bait..."
His hands snap up—palms facing outward—as the twin Magic Missiles detonate from his fingertips. These aren't the pebble-sized projectiles from before. These are monsters. Each one the size of a wagon, their surfaces crackling with unstable energy, trailing blue-white fire as they scream toward Bram's trajectory.
The crowd howls. Some spectators actually cower in their seats.
Bram sees them coming.
His teeth coated with blood as the smile seems to further etch itself on his face. "HAH!"
No dodge. No retreat.
Just raw, stupid momentum as he punches forward—
"Gotcha."
Bram doesn't dodge.
He charges—straight into the twin Magic Missiles, his body a golden comet against the blue-white glare of the spells.
BOOOOOOM!
The impact shakes the arena.
Stone shrieks as the arena floor splits—jagged fissures racing outward like lightning forks. The shockwave hits the crowd like a physical blow, knocking drinks from hands, tearing banners from their mounts. A wall of dust and debris erupts upward, swallowing the combatants whole.
High above, hidden in the shadows, Lyth's fingers twitch. "They're going to level the damn coliseum at this rate," he mutters, already calculating repair costs.
Then—
A shape emerges from the dust cloud.
Bram.
His shirt is in tatters, his knuckles raw and smoking—but his grin is feral. He launches forward, his muscles screaming as he crosses the distance in a single, terrifying bound. His fist cocks back—
"GOTCHA!"
—and smashes into the ground where Obinai stood.
CRUNCH!
The stone disintegrates, the force of the blow sending chunks of rubble flying. But Bram's fist meets only air.
"The hell—?"
His head snaps up, eyes wild, scanning the swirling dust.
Nothing.
A beat.
Then—
The crowd's roar turns into a sudden, collective gasp—a sharp inhale that sucks all sound from the arena.
Bram's head snaps up, following their stares.
There—
High above, just beneath Lyth's hovering form, Obinai hangs suspended against the bruised sky. Dust swirls around him like a storm. His arms are raised, fingers clawed around a pulsing mass of raw energy that warps the air around it. His grin is unhinged, teeth bared, eyes wide with something between joy and madness.
"THIS IS EVERYTHING YOU POWER HUNGRY FUCK!" His voice cracks with exhilaration, echoing off the arena walls.
The Magic Missile in his hands isn't right.
It's too big.
What should have been a compact orb of blue energy has swollen to the size nearly three times that of the previously used magic missiles, distorting like overripe fruit about to burst. It pulses—once, twice—each throb sending visible shockwaves through the air. The light from it paints Obinai's face in eerie fashion with flickering shadows.
Bram's stomach drops.
Oh.
Oh shit.
The crowd's murmur rises to a panicked buzz.
"[MEGA MISSILE]!" Obinai howls, and the air bends around the spell as he hurls it downward.
The projectile doesn't fall—it plummets, screaming through the air like a comet. The sheer mass of it warps gravity itself, dragging dust and loose debris upward in its wake. The light is blinding, searing retinas, casting jagged shadows across the arena floor.
Bram's body locks up. Every instinct screams MOVE MOVE MOVE—
But his feet stay planted.
A laugh bubbles up from his chest—rough, disbelieving. "You crazy bastard..." he mutters.
I didn't think I was gonna use this power 'til Lyra...good shit man...
Bram's grin stretches too wide, too sharp—like a wolf baring teeth. His veins ignite, molten gold bleeding through his skin, pulsing brighter with every thundering heartbeat. His eyes—once warm, familiar—drown in pitch-black darkness, the whites swallowed whole.
"We might die," he chuckles...
Obinai doesn't answer. Doesn't need to. His spell howls above them, a miniature sun screaming toward earth.
Bram's hair lifts, floating as if gravity has abandoned him.
"Fuck it."
His fists clench. Bones creak. The ground beneath him splinters from sheer pressure.
And he flies...
...
Killian's polished boots scrape against the railing as he vaults onto it, arms thrown wide like a conductor before a symphony. His chest heaves, his heart hammering so violently he can feel it in his teeth. The world narrows—the roaring crowd, the shattered arena, the two warriors locked in their death-struggle below—all of it fades into a glorious, vibrating blur.
"YES!"
His fingers twitch, his knuckles white where they grip nothing but air. His usually silver embroidered locs now disheveled, strands clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead. His silver eyes—wide, too wide.
"A GRAND STAGE!" he howls, the words ripping free like a beast uncaged. "FINALLY!"
A laugh bursts from him—sharp, jagged, bordering on hysterical. His head tilts back, throat bared to the arena lights as if in worship.
"SHOW ME A FINALE!" His voice cracks with the force of his scream. "SHOW ME!"
His breath comes in ragged gasps. His pulse thrums in his wrists, his neck, his temples—a drumbeat of pure, unfiltered ecstasy.
...
...
Bram soars through the air...
Then—
"[THIRD TECHNIQUE]!"
Bram's voice splits the air. His body twists midair, muscles coiled, fist drawn back—
"[RESONANCE]!"
The punch connects.
Light.
Blinding, all-consuming light.
The world whites out. Sound vanishes. For one infinite second, there is only the void—and then—
BOOOOOOM!
The shockwave detonates outward. Lyth's barrier shrieks as it catches the blast, the magical shield warping like heated glass.
Inside the blast, Bram charges through the heart of the explosion his skin scorched and smoking. He moves like a missile of his own, barreling straight toward Obinai.
His arm snaps out—a brutal, perfectly timed clothesline that catches Obinai square across the chest.
CRACK.
The sound of ribs bending echoes sickeningly through the arena. Obinai's eyes roll back, his mouth gaping in a soundless scream as every ounce of air is punched from his lungs. The impact sends them both hurtling downward.
BOOM.
The arena floor shatters beneath them, stone and dirt erupting upward in a violent geyser. Dust billows outward, swallowing the battlefield whole.
Silence.
Then...slowly, the dust begins to settle, revealing the two fighters lying in the middle of the arena. The crowd, still in stunned silence, begins to murmur as they wait to see who will rise first.
Obinai—sprawled on his back, eyes still rolled white, limbs limp.
Bram—twitching, coughing blood, his body a wreck of torn flesh and scorched fabric.
A groan.
Bram's fingers claw at the dirt, trembling as he tries to push himself up. His arms buckle instantly, sending him crashing back down with a wet thud.
"Tch... damn..."
He tries again. His muscles scream in protest, his vision swimming. Blood drips from his lips, splattering against the broken stone.
Third try...
With a roar that tears at his throat, Bram heaves himself upright, swaying like a drunkard. His legs tremble, threatening to give out, but he locks his knees.
"Hah... hah... hell yeah..."
He staggers forward, each step a battle, until he looms over Obinai's still form.
**"Guess... ki wins this—"
Obinai's eyes fly open.
One—normal.
The other—pitch black...
...the iris a
molten
glowing
gold....